Whisky bottles reach the ceiling,the barmaid's climbing a ladder,eyes upward but not praying,her legs get fingers twitchingand 'Binghamton's' on somethinghe says it's all happening herelives in the next town nothing doing,the band play the Blues againannounce their retirement mid-songbut 'Binghamton' can't sit downhe's dancing in his chair,he's banging his head on the shelf,he's outside with the smokers,his eyes are popping outand 'Binghamton's' finding outthe girl from the pasta restaurantgyrates like a charming snake,as he tells his own to keep downfor fear he'll catch the venomand 'Binghamton's' here then gonethe buses have long since left,the girl from Eastside's struggling home,he's hustling and dealing on the sidewalkhis hands are pigeons pouncing.